The Osculating Supposition
by Misophonia
Summary: Dr. Sheldon Cooper adores schedules, his girlfriend, order, his spot, hygiene, his mother, trains, physics, and science fiction-although not necessarily in that order. Physical affection? Not so much. However, a bit of accidental eavesdropping will soon compel him to contemplate something he never thought he would: Kissing Amy Farrah Fowler.
1. Chapter 1

**The Osculating Supposition**

**A/N: I own **_**The Big Bang Theory**_**. (Ha! Bazinga!) As always, I own nothing. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox. **

**This will be a short Shamy story that covers a topic I've been thinking about for a while. As I don't believe the writers of Big Bang Theory will be tackling this for a little bit yet, I have decided to write how I think it could go. This story takes place at the end of Season Six and has absolutely nothing to do with anything else I have written thus far (or will write in the future). I dedicate this little tale to my friend, Becca, who dared me to write a story entirely from Sheldon's POV; and to my BBT buds Cait, Chloe, and Ar—'cause they are so cool (especially to Ar and the love of his life, "C". Your love story, Ar, TRULY inspires me :P).**

**ONE**

Sheldon Cooper wasn't one to eavesdrop. There were three logical reasons why—in descending order of consequence. One, it was improper behavior for a Southern gentleman; two, he had more important things to do, and, three, conversations which one usually wanted to overhear tended to involve talk of feelings, gossip, and secrets.

All subjects better to be avoided as far as he was concerned.

When one heard one's name being bandied about, however, logic had no choice but to bow to the power of curiosity. It was for this reason that he was currently standing in the stairwell on the fifth step down from the fourth floor pressed against the wall listening to his girlfriend and her friends talk about him as he clutched the long-lost mate of his favorite pair of blue-and-red-striped socks in his hand.

"C'mon, Amy," Bernadette said, her voice slightly slurring from the after effects of a girls' night out with Penny, "you're really telling us—after all that time you spent alone in Sheldon's room the night of the Dungeons and Dragons game—you didn't even get a little lip-lock?"

"No," Amy affirmed.

His girlfriend, at least, appeared to be in full control of her faculties. For this, Sheldon was relieved. He didn't like it when Amy drank. He also didn't like the present topic of conversation. What business was it of theirs what happened in the privacy of his bedroom? And, for the record, he had kissed Amy—and much, much more. It just so happened that it had all occurred while in a role-playing scenario, which—to Sheldon's mind at least—was better than if he had actually touched her physically. _Less germ transference that way. _Amy understood and, in the subsequent weeks, had seemed more content in their relationship than ever._ She doesn't need me to kiss her to know she's important to me. _Sheldon nodded to himself, feeling secure in his logic.

There was a jangle of keys and a giggle that through a simple process of deduction he realized was coming from his blonde neighbor. "Of course he didn't kiss you. That would mean Moon Pie would actually have to touch you. He'd be too afraid of germs."

Sheldon reared away from the wall as if he'd been burned. Suddenly, his secure feeling wasn't so secure.

"I honestly don't know why you stay with him, Amy," Penny continued. "I know you find his quirks hot and all—and that's kind of sweet—but the lack of physicality has gotta be driving you nuts. Leonard's only been gone a week, and I'm already crawling the walls wanting him back. How have you survived dating Sheldon for this long and not having him? You want him. I can tell. Three years and not even a kiss? That's torture."

"I've kissed him," Amy argued. "Twice. You know this, Penny. You were there to see one of them. Unfortunately, I have no memory of the first kiss. However, Sheldon said it occurred; so that counts."

"Those weren't real kisses, Amy. They were pecks. Kisses are hot and moist with a little tongue action. Pecks are what you give your mother," Penny said.

A memory slammed into him without warning. That night. Her couch. Amy's mouth against his. So unexpected. The smell of cigarettes in the air, alcohol and cranberries on her breath. Her lips. So soft. The pressure. The heat. So hot. Skin against skin. All thoughts … gone. Sheldon had barely registered the fact that she was kissing him when she'd abruptly pulled away. He remembered wanting to pull her back to him, to try that again. Just as quickly, he'd been shocked to even consider this. Sheldon Cooper wanted to kiss someone without thought of bacteria, or physical contact? Yet, in that moment, he'd never wanted anything more. He'd thought he knew everything there was to know about kissing. Yet, in an instant, he'd come to realize just how wrong he was.

"Fascinating."

Sheldon remembered uttering that. What else was there to say? He hadn't been this surprised in a long time. Then, before he could say anything else, she'd run from him and spent the next forty minutes vomiting. He'd considered this turn of events a blessing later. It had saved him from acting on an insane impulse. Because surely that was what the instinct of wanting to kiss her again had to have been.

She'd kissed him the night he'd given her the tiara, of course. Yet, again, the contact was so sudden and so brief and there had been so much more going on he hadn't recorded little more than the tingle left behind from her mouth brushing against his and the feel of her body smashing his in a hug. He'd been so relieved she'd forgiven him—that their confusing argument was over so things between them could go back to the way they were—he'd pushed all the rest of it out of his mind.

No, Penny was wrong. The kisses he and Amy had shared were real all right, more real than he'd ever wanted to admit to anyone.

He waited for his girlfriend to defend him, to defend their relationship, those kisses, but she didn't. Moving up, he peeked around the wall in time to see Amy take the keys from Penny's clumsy hands and insert one into the door. It swung open, and she and Bernadette helped their overly-inebriated friend inside. The door closed behind them with a sense of foreboding finality.

Like an alarm clock going off inside his body, a compulsion rose within him to continue on to his apartment. _Go. _They were gone. _Go._ It was late. _Go._ If he hadn't managed to misplace a sock in the dryer downstairs, he would never have been here. _Go_. He'd be asleep right now—blissfully unaware of all of this.

For once, logic didn't make him feel better.

_You're late. Schedule. Bedtime. Go. Go. Go. Your brain functions at optimum conditions only if you receive the required minimum eight hours of rest._ He glanced at his watch. 11:36 pm. _Already late._ If he went to sleep right now, he would have exactly seven hours and twenty-four minutes of sleep—twenty-two minutes once one counted the time needed to get inside his apartment, get to his bedroom, and settle into bed—before he had to get up for paintball. The need to adhere to his ingrained schedule was becoming harder to ignore. Thus, he reached the landing of the fourth floor and headed straight for his own abode.

_Penny doesn't think my kisses with Amy are real. Does Amy agree?_ His mind shot back to the night of Dungeons and Dragons. Sheldon was still surprised he'd been able to accomplish all that he had. As far as experiments went, it was a smashing success. _Perhaps if I can complete coitus in that manner_, he told himself, _one day I can accomplish it in reality_. A delicious zing of anticipation mixed with fear ran through him like a shiver.

What if Amy didn't see it that way? What if she'd been disappointed? She'd said she wanted more. He'd thought he was giving it to her. His eidetic memory showed him with perfect clarity that night. He was by no means an expert at reading facial expressions, but he knew Amy. She had seemed happy with the progression of the evening. She'd appeared nervous—like him—but still happy.

_What if I'm wrong?_

It wasn't a question he often asked himself. Most people would assume this stemmed from an arrogance in a belief that he was always right. It wasn't. Sheldon was a careful person by nature. He thought everything out meticulously and then rethought it several times, considering every possible ramification to his actions before he completed anything. He was a master at using his imagination to completely visualize every facet and scenario before anything was considered possible to him.

Tonight, his imagination told him his being wrong in this instance was not only possible, it was probable.

He stopped with his hand on the knob. _I could listen at the door. She'll defend me, and I'll feel better._ With that, he forced away the need to go to bed and raced across the hallway. After a moment of indecision about the cleanliness of front doors, Sheldon pushed his cheek against the wood and used his superior hearing to try to catch what was being said inside.

"C'mon, Amy! There's no one here but us. Tell us the truth. Haven't you ever thought about being with someone else?" Penny asked.

Surging closer, Sheldon fought to hear her reply over the slamming of his heart in his chest.

Amy said, "Sheldon and I have a relationship of the mind first and foremost. He fascinates me like no other. He's brilliant and one-of-a-kind. I understand him better than I understand anyone and, moreover, he understands me."

"_We_ understand you. It took a little while, but we do. You could find someone else. You wouldn't lose us as friends if that is what you're afraid of," Penny replied.

"You don't understand me like he does. It's refreshing to have someone I can converse with that I don't have to explain my thinking or reasoning to. Even when I was a child, no one completely understood me—not like Sheldon does."

There was a clink of glass. Then, Bernadette spoke. "I feel the same way about Howie. It's like we're the same soul trapped in different bodies. But, when we were first going out and he wouldn't make a move on me, that notion didn't stop me from breaking up with him. A woman's got needs, after all."

"Exactly!" Penny exclaimed.

"My only need is for Sheldon."

"That's what I'm saying, Ames," Penny said. "Look, I know he's trying with you. He's trying harder with you than he's ever tried in the years I've known him. But, let's face facts here. He may be thinking about it, but thinking isn't doing, sweetie. What happens if he's never ready to take your relationship to the next level?"

There was a long pause. For a moment, Sheldon thought he'd lost his ability to hear. Surely that was the only reason he hadn't been able to decipher an answer from his girlfriend. Adrenaline ran rampantly through his veins, sweat dotted his upper lip until he had to brush it away with his hand, and he was pretty sure he was having some kind of cardiac arrhythmia. He made a mental note to schedule an appointment with his cardiologist tomorrow. No doubt, it was time for his bi-annual EKG.

Finally, Amy spoke. Unfortunately, he was only able to discern a little of what she said because her voice was so low, almost to a whisper level.

"… feel about him … my passions are great … Sheldon can't …"

Sheldon was as close as he could physically be without actually being the in Penny's living room. _What is Amy saying? Is she going to break up with me? _Raw fear coursed through him. He'd been so content with the success of their night together and so busy dealing with how the loss of Leonard was taking its toll on his schedule and his life, that he'd never considered this.

_Oh, God. I'm wrong. She's going to break up with me. What I did … it's not enough._ He briefly considered breaking into the apartment—Penny never locked it anyway when she was home so it was simply a case of turning the knob—walking up to Amy and laying one on her. But he couldn't. Something kept him cemented to his present location, listening to his world end in the hallway of his apartment building.

"So does that mean you're going to break up with him?"

Then, there was her voice—as sweet as an angel's. "No. I belong with Sheldon. I know it—just like I know I belong in neurobiology. If we're physical, it would be wonderful. However, if he can't ever be intimate with me, I will accept what affection he can give."

He was relieved, bewildered, happy, and so much more. His shoulders sagged as he all but fell away from the door to stumble closer to his apartment. He couldn't stand to listen anymore. _Amy isn't leaving me._ _Amy isn't leaving me. Amy isn't leaving me._ Sheldon chanted that to himself like he was a witch trying to ward off evil.

He slipped inside his living room, tossing the keys in the bowl as he made his way to the kitchen. He went through the motions of making tea, his brain abuzz with all that he'd heard.

Sheldon replayed it all in his mind, each word, each syllable uttered, the inflections in their tones, their pitches, the way they enunciated the consonants and rolled their vowels—trying to deduce any hidden meanings he might have missed. As he was not one for picking up double entendres, this was an exercise in futility. The only meaning he could deduce was that Penny and Bernadette had encouraged Amy to break up with him and she'd refused.

_Strikes. Penny and Bernadette. Two each._ Penny would have to take the class again, but he didn't care. They were lucky he didn't give them each three. Bernadette had never before received a strike. He would have to explain what it meant to her. _At the trial. Yes, this is definitely going to trial. They need to explain themselves._

As quickly as he decided this, he considered something else. By doing this, he would have to disclose his own infractions. _Eavesdropping._ Sheldon pondered this further. No, there was no way around it. Plus, there was the added humiliation of Amy knowing that he knew what she'd said about him. It could make things between them more emotional than his comfort level would allow.

"Drat. No trial. No strikes," he said as he gulped down his chamomile tea. He hissed as the hot beverage burned his tongue.

Taking his cup with him, he walked over to the couch and sat in his spot. Sheldon hated the feeling of burned taste buds, but his mind was too full of all he'd learned for him to take notice of them. His emotions were in a riot—something he hated more than anything. People thought he couldn't handle emotions, which was the furthest from the truth. He could handle them—just not so many at once. They inundated him, blocking his ability to stay logical and calm.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the trick Meemaw had taught him as a child to handle this kind of situation. As if she were standing right next to him, he could hear his grandmother's soothing voice play in his head. _Take them one by one, Moon Pie. Name them along with why you feel that way and then put them away._ He nodded to himself.

Anger. That was the first one. He was angry at Bernadette and Penny. Why would they try to talk Amy into breaking up with him? Surely they realized how essential she was for his continued well-being? Didn't they care at all?

Relief. He was relieved Amy had said what she said. The knowledge that she was willing to accept whatever physical affection he could give her was comforting and took a lot of pressure off. He'd been pushing himself more and more, but it was still so difficult. It wasn't so much that he minded touching Amy. Touching her wasn't like touching anyone else. Her hygiene standards were clearly at the same level as his own. Yet, his skin sweeping against hers was still so difficult and exhausting. The explosion of emotions in his brain when they touched was overwhelming, too many emotions and sensations for him to ever be able to adequately sort and classify. He wondered if she knew that. Maybe I should explain, tell her how I feel.

_What? Like a hippie?_ Sheldon scoffed and looked away.

Happiness. Amy wasn't breaking up with him. Life would continue on as before. It was an invigorating feeling, especially considering Leonard's recent defection. Sheldon knew his schedule couldn't handle another major shift at this time. Furthermore, he had a sneaking suspicion that losing Amy would do more than merely wreck his schedule, it might also—_No. This isn't an episode of _Dr. Phil_. I don't need to explore that._

Bewildered. Amy was all right with him taking things at his own pace. However, at the same time, she clearly wanted more. What if he wasn't able to give it to her? She'd said she would be content with whatever he was able to offer. What if she changed her mind? Women often did this. The earlier relief vanished.

It had taken all he had to complete the Dungeons and Dragons role-playing sex. Surely she knew this? He'd never been more uncomfortable, afraid, intimate, and—he gulped—aroused in his life. Arousal was a heady feeling. It had taken him a moment or two to catalogue that particular emotion. That was what it was, though. He remembered at the point when their characters had been in the throes of chasing their coital passions to their natural conclusions. He and Amy had shared a look. His eyes had inadvertently drifted to her lips and he'd been overcome by the insane urge to kiss her, to mark her as his in much the same way his Elvin magic user was marking her half-Orc warrior.

Then, Amy had looked away from him, staring down at clenched fists in her lap. Her cheeks were tinged with a pink that he found utterly delightful. He clasped his own hands as they ached to reach out and touch her. He didn't only want to touch her. He wanted to lay her back on his bed, push the book between them to the floor and—Simultaneously, he'd been struck with an unyielding, paralyzing fear that kept him rooted to his spot.

If it hadn't been for that, who knew what he would have done? _No. Not thinking about it. _He'd survived the night, feeling confident that he had managed to deliver an acceptable level of intimacy and physical affection to his girlfriend to not only help her understand how vital she was to him, but also to demonstrate how much he was trying to be what she needed.

_Are you trying?_

This flagrant question came from nowhere.

"Yes, but I'm not ready for coitus," he said, knowing it was ridiculous to be sitting here in an empty apartment talking to himself.

_You don't need to have coitus. There are other ways to show her you're trying, that you recognize the importance of her needs as well as your own._

"I have already demonstrated this. Amy knows. She just said so."

_You could kiss her._

"I can't," he immediately said. "The germs, the saliva …" He shuddered.

_You don't mind with her, remember? You _could_ kiss her._

The thought wasn't as wholly unwelcome as was before. If anything, his body fairly jumped in anticipation as if he'd just been offered the chance to drive a train. Sheldon took another sip of his tea, settling back into his spot as the concept flooded his brain. All thoughts of schedules, bedtime, and paintball were gone. There was only him, a mug of tea, an empty apartment, and this supposition.

"I could kiss her."

He pondered the idea, considering it from every facet. His imagination bloomed. Sheldon could see it all before him until everything around him was gone except for him and Amy. He was leaning over, pressing his mouth against hers. Somehow, saying it aloud and seeing it in his mind made the concept all the more real. And, the more real it got, the less frightened he was.

"Fascinating."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

It was like the plague.

The second Sheldon allowed himself to believe initiating a kiss with his girlfriend was possible, it infected every aspect of his life. Suddenly, he couldn't ride the bus without seeing a couple canoodling in the back. The last time he'd gone to the Cheesecake Factory, Bernadette and Howard had tagged along and ended up trading enough kisses and puppy dog eyes that Sheldon was left too disgusted to adequately enjoy his burger. Even his last Skyping session with Leonard had gone sour for similar reasons. Before he could finish reciting his detailed report on how Leonard's leaving had irrevocably delayed his carefully-scheduled path to a Nobel Prize, Penny had showed up. Soon, his roommate and neighbor were trading strange looks and phrases Sheldon didn't fully understand—and didn't want to understand as he was able to at least pick up on their carnal intentions. When he dared chide them for their behavior, Penny had told Leonard to call her sometime, gave her boyfriend a big wink, and walked out. A few seconds later, Leonard had said something about paperwork he needed to catch up on and got off.

Sheldon was no fool. He knew what was really going on. Yep, it was the plague all right.

Even his dreams, which were usually filled with him frolicking with trains and koalas while Mr. Spock and Stephen Hawking debated which was the better choice to be Sheldon's best friend, suddenly morphed into nightmares where he chased a certain smiling neurobiologist down one long tunnel after another. The second he would catch her and lean in to claim a kiss, she would vanish, leaving behind nothing more than a taunting giggle and supreme frustration. Then, spotting her up ahead, he would have no choice but to begin the Sisyphean pursuit all over again.

He tried everything to block it out. Yet, the more he tried, the more it seemed to crop up everywhere. It was in his Alpha-Bits cereal, which mysteriously spelled "Kiss" in his spoon two Saturdays in a row. It was in his comic books. _Who knew Batman was such a playboy?_ It was in his beloved original _Star Trek_ because Kirk couldn't seem to keep his lips to himself long enough to finish an episode. It was even in physics. _Yeah, physics!_

Sheldon blamed himself. After all, physics was too perfect to ever be blamed for anything. If he'd had better control over himself, it never would have happened. One minute, he'd been furiously scribbling equations across his whiteboard with his favorite red dry erase marker. The next, the scarlet ribbon of characters had mutated into an outline of what was clearly Amy Farrah Fowler's mouth. He'd recognize those lips anywhere. They'd pursed at him, beckoning him like Homer's famed sirens of old.

That was Monday. Now, here it was Thursday, date night with the key to his torment and it was everything he could do to concentrate on the movie before him. He loved _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_. It shouldn't have been a problem. There was some kissing in the storyline, of course, but as the leading woman turned out to be a conniving, greedy Nazi supporter who died in the end, Sheldon wasn't overly concerned. He and Amy had enjoyed dinner at an Italian restaurant before returning to his apartment to watch the film. She had agreed that he could choose the movie, and they were sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Not a word had been exchanged since the movie's start some 69 minutes ago. It should have been a perfect evening. But Sheldon couldn't stop himself from being hyper aware that she was there. They were magnetic poles. The space between them was such a strong magnetic field that it was all he could do to stay rooted to his spot. _Kiss me, Sheldon. _She hadn't actually said that out loud, but she may as well have. Yeah, that vixen was drawing him in whether he wanted it or not.

_That's it. The second the movie is over, she's out of here._ As much as he was ready to consider kissing her, completing the action itself was something else entirely. Sheldon had figured he had a few months before he'd actually have to do anything. Yet, here it was not two weeks after he'd overheard what he was calling The Conversation and his life was hell. He'd begun his research on the topic, of course, but was hardly ready to move from the theoretical stage to the experimental one. No, when he kissed Amy, it had to be perfect. He excelled at everything. She would expect him to excel at this as well. He _had_ to excel at this.

"Sheldon, are you all right?" she asked.

He jolted in surprise. "I'm fine," he replied, not bothering to look over at her.

"You seem … jittery. Are you getting sick?"

He pondered this. Sickness would certainly explain his behavior. But he knew it wasn't true. His thrice-daily temperature readings were within normal range, his bowel movements were on schedule and of the right color and shape, his respiration was unblocked by mucus or swelling, his head did not ache, and the spaghetti consumed during dinner had settled nicely in his stomach.

"I'm not sick," he answered, regretfully.

"Look at me."

He kept his eyes safely on the television in front of him where Indiana Jones was badly impersonating a Scotsman. "Why? We are watching a movie, are we not?"

"Sheldon."

That voice. _Why can I never refuse that voice?_ It was worse than the tone his mother sometimes got, the one that told him he was three seconds from getting his hide tanned with a belt. _Is Amy like my mother?_ The second he thought that, his mind and body immediately repelled the idea. No, he didn't see Amy as a mother figure. _Then, why am I so compelled to listen to her?_

With his mother, it made sense. She had raised him. He loved her, of course. She was usually the disciplinarian in the household when he was growing up. No, Amy was not his mother, yet he was still unable to deny her anything.

_Except a kiss._

He shuddered and looked down, ashamed at himself. _What kind of boyfriend am I that I can't just kiss her? What would it hurt if it wasn't perfect? _Amy had never judged him before. She wouldn't judge him now. He could just do it. Better, she would be on hand to help him figure out how to improve the technique. They could make an experiment out of it. It might even be fun.

"Sheldon?"

The couch moved beneath him as she covered the distance between them faster than he could have imagined possible. She reached out to touch him, but seemed to think better of it. "Look at me, Sheldon. Please," she murmured.

He couldn't deny her. He could never deny her. Sheldon paused the television and turned to stare down at her. "Yes?"

If she was a magnetic pole, her green eyes were the very center of it. They were like the Lego Store, a source of comfort for him, a place he could happily get lost in. The little flecks of gold he'd noticed so long ago in her jade pools seemed bigger tonight in the brightness of the overhead light.

"Tell me what's bothering you. Is it something with Kripke?"

He immediately frowned. "No."

"Then what is it?"

Sheldon wanted to tell her. Every instinct he had was bursting to tell her. But he couldn't. He was a man. He had some pride, after all. Besides, if he told her, he would have to tell her about his eavesdropping and that was out of the question.

He turned back towards the television so he didn't have to look at her. "I miss Leonard."

It wasn't a lie. He did miss his roommate. _If Leonard was here, I could talk to him about this. He could tell me what to do_. As it was, he was left with talking to Wolowitz or Koothrappali—both of whom would no doubt mock him and then tell Bernadette, who would in turn tell Penny and Amy. Likewise, he couldn't talk to Penny about this because she would blab to Amy and also because she would merely tell him to stop thinking about kissing his girlfriend and just kiss her already.

_Nobody understands me._ He sighed and looked back over at Amy. _Except you._ This was one of those times when he wished he could clone Amy. It would be so nice to have a friend-only version of her in addition to a girlfriend version. He could ask Friend-Amy for advice, and she would be able to tell him exactly what to do while not judging him or mocking him.

Amy held herself perfectly still next to him as if she was trying to make a decision. He found this odd for a moment before she finally huddled her body firmly next to his, leaning her head on the outside of his shoulder.

He went rigid in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"You miss your friend. At times like these, the best source of comfort is physical touching. I thought you might object to me putting my arms around you and I know you are not a fan of cuddling. So, I decided leaning against you would give you the comfort you desire while being the least constricting."

She was right. He did feel better. It was odd. There was something about her head resting warmly against him that was comforting. He took in a breath and let it out slowly as to not jostle her. It was strange. This shouldn't feel good. If they were both magnetic poles, being this close should have made the attraction to her stronger. It wasn't. It was as strong as it always was, of course, but, somehow, allowing her to touch him had eased the force of that attraction somewhat. It was now more palatable. _Intriguing._

"Do you want to start the movie again?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, using the remote to do just that.

The rest of the movie played while his mind reveled in this new concept. _If allowing her to touch me made me feel better—not only about missing Leonard, but also about this strange pull I feel to her—would kissing her make it feel even better? _This hypothesis certainly had merit. _I need to do more research. Surely, someone else has thought of this already. There have to be papers on this kind of thing that I could read to get a better understanding._

About ten minutes later, he felt Amy completely relax against him. He decided to follow suit, taking his body parts one by one and coaxing them to unwind. First his toes, then his feet, then his ankles and so on until he was completely settled into the brown couch.

_Put an arm around her._

He tensed up again. Where had that idea come from? Sheldon chided himself for the direction of his thoughts. All this pondering of kissing was leading him down paths he had no wish to tread. At this rate, he'd be having coitus with Amy by week's end. He gulped at the mere thought. _I'm not ready for that. The exchange of bodily fluids, the germs, the sweat, I don't know what to do. What if she isn't pleased? What if I hurt her? What if she doesn't like it so much she leaves me?_

He closed his eyes, using kohlinar to calm down. Within another ten minutes, he had better control over himself. This was getting out of hand. _Why can't we just stay like we are? Why does this have to be so hard? _He took deep, even breaths. _Amy said she is all right if we stay as we are. We could just do that._

Yet, even as he considered this, he knew they couldn't. Change was the human condition. Species either changed, evolved or they died out and were left behind. He didn't want that. But, at the same time, thinking over all the steps he had to take in order to achieve a fully physical relationship with Amy left him dizzy and frightened.

He was brought out of his reverie by a low grunt from Amy as she adjusted her body. Her head fell back against the sofa, and he noticed that she was asleep. As Indiana Jones was now riding off into the sunset with his father, Sheldon switched off the television and focused on his sleeping girlfriend. He'd never seen her this unguarded before. Her alabaster skin; her nose rounded oddly at the end; the blunt cut of her chin; the long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks; and that mouth, the source of his torment, pinkened, curved, and beckoning him even now.

Her head was angled queerly on the couch._ She's going to have a crick in her neck when she wakes up_, he thought. _I need to do something._ He wondered if he should wake her up, but decided against it as this was a perfect time for him to study her. Would he ever get another chance like this? It would be ridiculous to waste it.

He reached over, cupping the back of her head in his hand. Then, with a swift maneuver, he rolled her sleeping form into reclining fully on the sofa, her head pillowed on the opposite end from his spot. She sighed and settled more comfortably into position. After a moment of indecision, Sheldon reached over and plucked the glasses from her face so they wouldn't be broken while she slept. Folding them carefully, he placed them on the side table.

Standing over her, it occurred to him that she might be cold. A quick trip to the closet had him covering her with a throw his meemaw had made for him the year he'd gone off to college. He also brought a pillow from his bed so Amy wouldn't have to rest against the hard arm of the sofa.

Now, he stood over her, taking it all in. He remembered the night of their first kiss. She'd passed out on the bathroom floor after her vomiting. She certainly looked more peaceful now. He'd wanted to pick her up that night and place her in her own bed, but lacked the kind of upper body strength that would allow for that. No doubt, he would only have dropped her and injured the vertebrae in his back irrevocably.

She made a low moan in her sleep and shifted, throwing one arm above her head as she settled more firmly on her back. Her lips pursed lightly—as though she were frustrated—before spreading into a soft smile. Sheldon was enchanted. _What must she be dreaming about? Shopping with Penny? Monkeys? Me?_ That last one had him smiling in return. It shouldn't have made him happy to know she might be dreaming about him, but it did.

She shifted again, this time the hand came down until it was laying on top of the other over the cover. She looked so innocent, so … _beautiful_. His heart slammed in his chest. It was true. She was beautiful. The memory of another evening with her hit him. The night after she'd gone to Disneyland with the girls and they'd had those ridiculous princess makeovers. He hadn't liked how that had made Amy act when she'd returned to him. Not only was she wearing more makeup than any woman ever needed to wear, but she'd looked so different. It left him feeling disconcerted and unsure. He liked Amy as she was. Why couldn't she stay like she was? He'd spent the evening burying himself in work while she not-so-subtly tried to get him to kiss her. As if he could ever kiss a stranger. Dressed the way she was, it has seemed like she was a stranger to him. Sheldon had been so relieved to see her as her normal self the next time they'd been together.

Yet, tonight, he was wondering what would have happened if he had kissed her.

Here she was, a beautiful princess asleep and in need of kiss from a handsome prince. And, while he'd never considered himself handsome, he knew women had often told him his looks were aesthetically pleasing. He was certainly no prince, but he could be a hero if the situation called for it.

_You could kiss her. She would never have to know. It would be an experiment._

He thought about this, considering all the ramifications. She might wake up. She might be offended. Sheldon didn't know many things about women or relationships, but he was well aware of what could and could not be done without a woman's permission. He certainly would not have wanted her to kiss him if he was unwilling.

_But who says she would be unwilling? She wants you to kiss her. She has said so. Besides, she won't wake up. She'll sleep right through it, and this will give you the perfect opportunity to decide how to place your lips and what amount of pressure is needed. Then, when you kiss her for real, it will be perfect._

As his logic was sound—and who could argue with sound logic?—Sheldon took a deep breath and leaned down, placing his mouth timidly on top of hers.

He was struck at once by the softness of her lips against his. The warmth came next. He pressed deeper, feeling strangely frustrated. He pulled back and reached up to touch his lips with his hand. No tingle. _Odd._ It had been there before. Even the night of the battle of the sexes when Penny had held him down while she and Amy had peppered him with kisses, his forehead had been covered with tingles.

_Try again._

He nodded. Maybe he was doing something wrong. He got down on his knees and, resting his weight on his arms, he hovered over her until their faces were perfectly aligned. Then, he settled his mouth over hers once more.

Softness. Heat. She moaned, moving her lips slightly under his. He wanted to pull back, but the tingles were here now. He surged against her, mimicking the way her lips had stirred under his. _Fascinating._ Kissing wasn't one long pressed movement like he'd always supposed. It was more a series of smaller kisses, lips coming together, rubbing and then pulling apart before starting over again. His free hand came up on its own, caressing her jaw as he continued to kiss her.

His ministrations seemed to generate a better reaction from her. Her mouth opened just slightly and she pulled his bottom lip between her own for a moment before releasing it. He shuddered, liking this a lot. The tingles. They morphed into something more, something hotter until he was overwhelmed with heady sensations and had to pull back.

His butt slammed into the wooden floor as his lungs lurched to pull in enough air. Sheldon leaned against the bottom of the couch, unable to keep his thoughts from drowning him. _That was … That was …_ His hand ran up to touch his mouth. He could still feel her lips there, like they were tattooed into his skin. She moaned, and he shot a glance up at her, fearful the princess had woken up at last. _No, she can't wake up now. I can't explain. How can I when I'm not even sure what happened myself?_

"Sheldon."

He squeezed his eyes shut, shame heating his cheeks. _No. Dear Lord, not now._


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

The second Amy sat up on the couch, he was sure he was going to die.

"Sheldon, did you—"

"I kissed you."

There was a long pause. Sheldon used it to scramble to his feet. The kitchen needed to be cleaned. It was dirty. How could he have left it so unkempt for so long? The germs were rapidly multiplying by the second. If he didn't take care of it, he'd be sick soon. They both would. He'd kissed her. Whatever germs inhabiting him were now inhabiting her. _Oh God._ Grabbing the spray bottle of cleaner from beneath the sink, he began to spritz everything in sight. Then, he snatched several paper towels and wiped furiously at any available surface. _Dirty. Dirty. Dirty._

"Sheldon."

Her hand on his shoulder brought an immediate halt to his activities. His body went limp as his head hung low in disgrace. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Why?"

Sheldon looked up at her, unable to believe she didn't know why he was apologizing.

"I kissed you without your permission. Aren't you mad? Isn't that what you were asking?"

Her expression softened into a welcoming smile that only confused him more. "I was asking if you had put the cover on me." Her eyes darted away for a moment before staring up at him. Her voice became so faint, so gentle that had it not been for his superior hearing, he wouldn't have heard her. "And, I wasn't asking why you were sorry. I was asking why you kissed me."

"Oh."

Sheldon's mind was impermeable. It simply couldn't absorb another thought or emotion. This was too much. _Too much._ He didn't even know how to begin to answer her question. He didn't know how to begin to think about how to answer her question.

"I don't know," he finally replied. "I just wanted to do it. I'm sorry."

"Really?" She grinned.

_Now she's happy?_ Sheldon was totally thrown for a loop. "Why are you smiling? I'm a terrible person."

Amy sighed and took the paper towel and spray bottle from his hands, placing them on the counter. "It's all right."

She wasn't wearing her glasses. She looked so different without them and, yet, the same. Her eyes seemed smaller, but her cheeks were more prominent and her eyebrows had more character as they weren't hidden behind dark rims.

"It's not all right. What I did was unforgiveable. I should be punished."

Her mouth quirked into a peculiar smile. "Like a spanking?" she asked.

Sheldon jumped back. "No," he yelped. He hadn't been spanked in many years and had no interest in having it happen now. Surely his infraction wasn't that bad. His brain raced to find a more acceptable alternative. "The new _Star Wars_ movie. When it premieres, I won't be able to see it until it comes out on Blue Ray." The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Honestly, that was worse than a spanking. Still, he wouldn't recall the proposal. He'd committed a wrong against her. Atonement must be made.

"Hmm …" she said, heading into the living room. Amy picked up her glasses and placed them back on her face before meandering around the couch to the radio located on the large, brown bookcase. She flipped it on, moving the dial until she found a station she liked. A long, slow melody filled the room. She rocked her body to the beat, her head falling back, making the delicate tendrils of her brown hair cascade down over her shoulders in a sweet surrender that he found utterly captivating.

"I have a better idea." She turned back, beckoning to him. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me. That's your punishment."

"How is that a punishment?"

She shrugged. "You don't like to dance. As you owe me, that means I get what I want right now."

He frowned, unsure. "Dancing with you isn't a punishment."

"Then, consider yourself fortunate for getting off so lightly. Come dance with me, Sheldon, before the song is over. I love Eric Clapton."

Sheldon went to her. There was no choice. The infraction was his. The decision on the punishment was hers. If his girlfriend wanted him to dance with her, dance with her he would. Taking Amy into his arms, he held her rigidly in frame as he moved them in a waltz. "What is this song?"

"'Wonderful Tonight'."

He remembered it was one of Amy's favorites, but he'd never heard it before tonight. The melody was slow. The words were simple. Amy's grip on him was light, but he could still feel her body heat beneath the layers of fabric he was wearing. They had danced together before, of course. Yet, this was different, more intimate somehow. It made no sense. He'd waltzed many times with many different females—his cotillion training made him change partners quite often. Why did this dance make him feel naughty and contented at the same time?

Sheldon peered down at his partner, trying to gauge her feelings. Amy looked perfectly normal. She was smiling, following his lead and humming along with the tune. Every once and a while, she would sing along with the chorus. He was spellbound watching her. She was so relaxed in his arms, like it was home to her. He realized he felt the same way, and it scared him.

"What is it?" she asked, glancing at him in alarm.

_How does she always recognize when I'm upset?_ If he didn't know better, he would have thought it was some sort of magic. "Nothing," he murmured, breaking frame and pulling her closer than he normally would so she couldn't see his expression—no doubt, that was giving a lot away.

She didn't protest. If anything, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his favorite red Flash t-shirt. His chin bowed to rest on her head. He breathed in, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. The bouquet of lavender with a hint of mint and tar that was her dandruff shampoo beguiled his nostrils. _Why do I adore that scent so?_ It wasn't like the rose and oatmeal smell that was Meemaw or the tantalizing aroma of a pecan pie cooling on the window sill in his mother's kitchen. Those made sense. They were from his childhood and went along with memories of good times and good food. But this, it was illogical. This smell was simple formula mixed for the sole purpose of ridding one's head of dandruff and here he was acting as if it were the most expensive aphrodisiac he'd ever inhaled.

_Aphrodisiac? Is that what this is? Is that what I'm feeling right now? Is this … arousal?_ He tried remain as calm as possible as he catalogued his symptoms. He didn't want to startle Amy. She might ask more questions he had no answers to. The next thing he knew, he'd be blabbing about The Conversation and that would only lead to even more questions. _No, remain calm. You don't even know if arousal is what you're feeling._

He remembered back to his night of Dungeons and Dragons with Amy. _That_ had been arousal. The increased heart rate. The heat in his cheeks. The rapid respiration. The heady sensation overtaking his mind like he was drunk. The disconcerting throbbing in his groin. Yes. He had been aroused that night. He could admit that—as long as it was just to himself. And, due to the subject of that particular night's role-playing interaction, it made sense that he would feel that way. However, that wasn't what was going on tonight. This was dancing. There should be nothing sexual about it. It was tempo, rhythm, steps, posture, and frame. What was sexual about any of that? Sure, they were touching, which made his heart beat like a drum in his chest, but that could just as easily be chalked up to how much he didn't like touching or having people touch him.

_Next._ His breathing was low and even. Sure, there was a hitch every time Amy shifted beneath him—especially when she lightly rubbed her hand over the nape of his neck. But when one took into account the—

"Stop analyzing everything, Sheldon. Just let it be."

It took him a minute or so to realize that hadn't come from his subconscious. It was Amy.

"What do you mean?" Didn't she understand? He had to analyze it. He analyzed everything. It's what he did. How else would one make the world make sense?

Like she'd read his mind, Amy pulled back a little to look up at him. "We make sense. You and me. That's all the matters. What you're experiencing? The confusion? The overwhelmed feeling? I feel it too. It's normal. But, if you overanalyze it, you're going to freak out and ruin what could be the most romantic night I have ever spent my boyfriend. And, as this is supposed to be your atonement for kissing me without my permission, I forbid you to ruin it. Do you understand?" Then, without waiting for his answer, she snuggled against his chest.

Sheldon said nothing. He merely kept dancing. They weren't waltzing anymore. It wasn't really a dance at all. They were just swaying back and forth repeatedly to the beat. It should have annoyed him that they weren't following proper dancing protocol, but it didn't. The song changed to a more up tempo number, but he didn't mention it and neither did she. They merely kept dancing, keeping their own rhythm.

It might be the most romantic night of his girlfriend's life, but it was the weirdest and most interesting night of his. He felt free for the first time ever, free of all the mental shackles he was usually carrying around. It was like his brain was at rest simply on her say so, like he didn't have to know the whys and hows of everything. He could exist, just be … with her in his arms.

The song changed again to something slower, something sweeter … a woman singing about a long, lost love she would never see again. Sheldon thought back to the kiss he'd given Amy and wondered, if they kissed again right now, what it would be like? What would it be like to not have to analyze everything before he kissed her? What if he could enjoy a kiss with this beautiful creature as if he were like everyone else for once?

"Amy," he said.

She looked up at him. "Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Her dark brow crinkled delicately. "Why?"

"Because it's what I want."

She stared at him for the longest time, her head tilting in obvious confusion. Then, she exhaled deeply and said, "No." She rested her cheek against his chest again as if she hadn't just rejected him in the worst way possible.

Sheldon wasn't used to being denied. He was too careful, too cautious about what he asked before he asked it. The sting of the rebuff hit him, but it was curiosity that had him asking, "Why not?"

_Amy always wants to kiss me. If I let her, she'd kiss me every time she saw me. Yet, the one time I ask her for it and she refuses?_ It defied all logic.

She didn't look up when she answered. Her voice was muffled against the cotton of his t-shirt. "Because the next time you and I share a kiss, it will be a kiss initiated by you."

"I just kissed you."

"That doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't even conscious for most of it."

He felt humiliated all over again. Sheldon tensed and stepped back, but she moved her arms from around his neck to lock them around his waist. He wiggled against her. She wouldn't release him.

"Let me go."

"No," she said. "You keep running away. It doesn't fix anything. I know you miss Leonard, and I know you're obviously going through some emotional questions where you and I are concerned. Talk to me, Sheldon. If I let you walk away tonight, you'll just lock yourself in your room and avoid my phone calls. Then, when you finally talk to me again, there will be this immovable iceberg between us. Leonard isn't here to help soften this for you; so I'm going to have to help, and you have to let me."

He hated how much she knew him. It was annoying at times like these. Sheldon held his hands out awkwardly from his body, not wanting to touch her. "Let me go. If you won't kiss me, letting me go is the least you can do."

She didn't let him go. But she did stare at him. "I never said I wouldn't kiss you. I am more than willing to share a kiss with you. I simply request that you be the one to initiate it. Is that so hard?"

"Woman, why don't you just ask me to prove M-Theory within the next thirty seconds?" he retorted.

"Would it help if I pretended to be asleep first?" she wryly remarked.

He glared down at her. "That was a low blow."

She glared right back. "Why did you kiss me while I was asleep, Sheldon? You've never wanted to kiss me before. You hate the very idea of it."

"I don't hate it."

"Then why kiss me?"

"Because I don't hate it."

She let go of him and took two determined steps back. He immediately missed her warmth and wrapped his arms around himself to compensate.

"That makes no sense," Amy argued. "You hate physical touching. Why change your mind now? Is it because Leonard is gone? Are you afraid I'm going to leave you, too?"

"No. You won't leave me. You accept me as I am. I could never kiss you again in your whole life and you wouldn't leave me. You love me."

The music playing in the background was the only sound in the room as they looked at each other. Identical expressions of surprise marked their faces. He wasn't sure what astonished him more: That he knew she loved him, that he hadn't even realized it until this very minute, or that he didn't want to have some kind of panic attack because of it. Knowing she loved him was like breathing. It was that straightforward, that easy, and that necessary.

She swallowed hard and looked away. _What's the matter?_ he thought. _Am I wrong?_ He'd been wrong about so much tonight, being wrong about this wouldn't surprise him at this point. _No._ His blood seemed to feel cold in his veins. _What if I am wrong? What if she doesn't love me?_

"How did you know?" she quietly asked.

He closed his eyes in relief. _She does love me. She does love me. She does love me. Thank God._ "I don't know how. I just know … that I know. I think I've known for a while now." He opened them again to find her staring at him. Sheldon was frustrated at himself for being unable to read her expression. _All this intelligence for what? It's no good when I really need it._

"Amy, please. Tell me what you're thinking. I have to know."

"I'm thinking that I love you. I do. And I'm wondering how long you've known about my feelings and I'm mostly wondering when you're going to run." Unshed tears were pooling in her eyes, but she didn't look away from him. If anything, she straightened to every inch of her already impressive for a female height as if she were waiting for him to strike her—which was ridiculous.

"Run?" he echoed. Just as fast as he said it, he knew she was right. He did run. This should have had him shoving her out the door and fleeing to his bedroom, but the compulsion simply wasn't there. There was fear inside him, sure. It wasn't because she loved him. It was because he was afraid he had hurt her in some vital way that he couldn't begin to understand, much less repair. "I'm not running. I won't run." He inhaled and exhaled, trying to gather his courage to continue. "I haven't known long … not consciously. Unconsciously, I think I've known for quite a while. I'm aware that doesn't make much logical sense, but it is the truth."

"You're all right with me loving you? We're scientists. We're not supposed to believe in that kind of social construct nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense if it's how you feel," he replied, "and whether we believe in it or not is irrelevant. You love me. That's as plain as the couch right here in front of us. I can see it, and I can see you."

She nodded. "OK. So, now that you know I love you." Amy paused. "How do _you_ feel?"

He should have expected the question, but he hadn't. Unconsciously, it had been a question he'd been asking himself for a long while now. Since the night of The Conversation and maybe for many nights before that. Now, here he was expected to give an answer. Because she deserved an answer. Amy deserved everything.

The problem was Sheldon just didn't know if he had it in him to give it to her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **This is the last chapter of my short story. I just wanted to issue that particular warning because I've been told I must do so. I was also told to warn you all that awesomeness lies ahead. However, as I believe I am neither conceited enough nor gifted enough to be able to tout such things—I'm no Jane Austen, after all—I will leave the judgment of awesomeness of this chapter and this story overall in your capable hands. (Personally, it's a little fluffy for my tastes, but oh well!) Long live the legendary Eric Clapton, and long live the equally legendary Shamy!**

**FOUR**

Logic dictated that Sheldon should be having a panic attack about now. The situation certainly called for it. But he didn't. He also didn't have an answer for Amy's question. _Do I love her? I care about her. I need her. Is that the same thing? _There was too much to think about, too much to process before he would ever be able to know what he really felt and much more than that before he would ever be able to put his emotions into words.

So, instead of explaining any of that, he decided to take her earlier advice and just stop analyzing it all. There would be time enough for all of that tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that. _But there is something I can do for her._ He pulled out his phone. After a few clicks, he had what he wanted. Next, he went over to the radio and turned it off.

Sheldon looked up he heard the door open. _What?_ She was leaving. His beloved Amy was leaving him. _What did I do? _

_ What did you do? She loves you and asks how you feel and you say … nothing. How did you expect her to react?_

The little voice badgering him from the back of his mind returned with a vengeance. Worse, it was right. _I should have said something … anything. What must she be thinking?_

_She thinks you don't love her. What do you expect?_

"Amy, wait," he said, rushing to her.

She kept her back to him. "I'm a coward. I know. I'm sorry. But I can't bear it if the answer is that you don't love me, Sheldon. I thought I could, but I was wrong. I'm not strong enough."

"You're not a coward. I am," he said, swallowing painfully. He reached up to push the door closed. "Don't leave."

"Why?" she asked, slowly turning around. Her wide eyes were wary and afraid. They were also full of unshed tears. "If you don't love me, what is the point of my staying?"

Sheldon paused, unsure how to proceed. He usually avoided weeping females with the same rigidity as he did hospitals. _No. This isn't just a weeping woman. This is Amy. _Leaving her right now would only make all this worse. _I should tell her I love her._ _It will soothe her. The tears will stop. She'll stay. But_, even as he thought that, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. He didn't know what he felt. _Do I love her? What if I say it to placate her but realize later it isn't true? I would have lied to her then. Isn't that worse? _He softly groaned in frustration. _I need to be alone, to think, but she needs me, too._

He didn't know what to do. That made him feel all the more helpless and unsure.

One tear welled over the rim of her eye and fell down her cheek. That was all it took for him to close the few steps' distance between them. He tucked his finger under her chin and gently nudged her to look up at him. Her vulnerability was bare before him. With one wrong word, one wrong look, he could utterly destroy her. The weight of the power he held bore heavily on him, it humbled him.

_With great power comes great responsibility._

Sheldon nodded to himself. _She's my responsibility. She's … mine. To hurt her is to destroy myself._

Admitting that was a shock. But, even as he thought it, he knew it was true. And, with that, he also knew what he had to do. He wasn't ready to spout his feelings to her like some kind of hippie—even though he was fairly confident what those particular feelings were. No, that would take careful thought, careful planning, practice, and more courage than he presently had. Her voice from the night of The Conversation rang in his head.

_I belong with Sheldon. I know it—just like I know I belong in neurobiology. If we're physical, it would be wonderful. However, if he can't ever be intimate with me, I will accept what affection he can give._

Even though he wasn't ready to declare himself, there was something he was willing to give her, something equally dangerous. Hopefully, it would be enough until he could give her more.

Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he tugged her closer. She stumbled over to him. The hand under her chin moved up, pushing away the curtain of brown hair from her face. Then, when he'd hooked the hair around her ear, his fingers wandered down to lightly caress her cheek. _Odd._ He was touching her, and the last thing on his mind was germs. He was captivated with the supple texture of her skin beneath his fingertips and how the tingles he'd previously experienced didn't just come from having his lips on hers anymore. They raced from her skin through his fingers, zinging up his wrists like a currents of electricity through water. Fascinated, he stared down at her. She kept his gaze, ratcheting up the voltage. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but romantic words weren't his forte. He was facts, equations, theories, and proofs. What he was feeling right now didn't even begin to fit into anything like that. So, he decided to keep it simple.

"I'm going to kiss you," he hoarsely said.

"Yes," she agreed.

That was all Sheldon needed. He leaned forward. There was a light pressing of their mouths together before she began to move her lips. He tried to mimic these movements, but his efforts were clumsy at best. Still, this was for Amy. For her, he would try harder. Their faces weren't perfectly aligned. He knew that had to be the problem with why he couldn't seem to—

Amy shifted and tilted her head. Then, opening her mouth, she massaged his lips with hers, nibbling along his lower lip. He groaned, yanked her closer, stopped thinking, and just kissed her. All thoughts of alignment, symmetry and the right and the wrong way to kiss flew out of his head. This was his woman. He was her man. This was their kiss. It was perfect simply because it was them.

Better, it was just like he'd imagined in his head all those weeks ago, but it was better. Sheldon had always thought his imagination was one of the true gifts of his brain. It allowed him to see things few people could, but he would never have been able to fully imagine how much better truly kissing his girlfriend was.

Amy reached to cup his face as his arms moved wound around her waist to lock her against his body. He angled his head to the side, trading a dizzying amount of kisses with the woman in his arms. Their lips met; intertwined with each other; and moved away, only to do it all over again and again and again until time seemed to stand still around them.

When Amy pulled back from him—_yes, she had to pull back from him_—he had two handfuls of her sweater and was panting like he'd been underwater for a long time. He buried his face in the natural crook of her neck and tried to remember his name. The only thoughts his brain could conjure was that Penny had been right. What they had shared before hadn't really been kisses. _This. Yes. This was a kiss._

"Our first kiss," Amy said, her throat vibrating lightly against his ear.

He wrenched his head up. "It won't be our last," he vowed as he looked at her. Licking his lower lip, he tasted her again. She was sweet, like red vines and cherry Kool-Aid, but so much better. Sheldon felt strange. There were emotions he could place, of course, like arousal and fear, but there was also an overwhelming sense of contentment like he'd finally arrived home from a long journey.

"You dropped your phone."

"Huh?" Sheldon asked, blinking disorientedly at her.

She reached down to pick it up off the floor and handed it to him. "Your phone. You dropped it."

His eyes darted down. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pupils were dilated. Her lips were swollen. _I did that. _He felt powerful and drugged at the same time._ I want to do it again._

He'd made up his mind to do just that when she shoved his phone at him. He had no choice but to accept it, looked down at the electronic device in his hands as if he'd never seen it before. Then, with a flash, he remembered why he'd had in the first place. _I can't give Amy the romantic words she needs tonight, but I can still do something romantic for her._ After a few well-placed clicks, a melody started playing in the room. After setting the phone on the coffee table, Sheldon turned back to Amy, who was standing at the door gaping at him in amazement.

He held out a hand and executed a bow that would make his cotillion instructor proud. "Dance with me."

"You've already had your punishment."

He frowned. "I told you before. Dancing with you is never a punishment."

"Sheldon, you don't have to—"

"I owe you an answer to your question. I know that." He held her gaze a long time so she would realize how serious he was. "But I'm not ready. I need more time. I need to be sure. I'm sorry that—"

She smiled gently. "I'll give you as much time as you need."

He sighed. _I'll never find another one like her._

_You were damn lucky to get her in the first time_, the little voice nagged.

_I don't believe in luck, but I do believe in her._

"There are things I can do," he explained, "things I am ready for. I want to dance with you again, Amy. I want hold you in my arms until you have to go home. Is that all right?"

She let out a little, shallow exhale that he recognized from his days spent with her in her lab. _She's excited._ Amy walked over to him. "Always," she said, stepping into his embrace.

It took the barest of seconds to get acclimated to her being this close to him. He was amazed at how fast it was, how much he wasn't overthinking his physical touches with her. Somehow, the second she had put her head on his shoulder tonight, things had changed between them. Now, anything seemed possible. _I want to kiss her again. I'm told some kissing involves tongues. Maybe I can experiment with—_

_Whoa. Slow down there. Major saliva exchange? Putting your tongue in her mouth? Having her put her tongue in yours? Are you nuts?_, his logical side argued. His tongue ran out to taste her on his lips again. The sweet residue of her kiss exploding in his mouth was enough to quell any arguments. _Yeah, I am. I'm nuts about her._

He held Amy to him, not even bothering to worry about frames this time. No, he wanted her closer than that. They swayed to and fro as Eric Clapton sang of his love for a beautiful lady who cared for him enough to love him just as he was. As far as Sheldon was concerned, it was the perfect expression of his relationship with Amy.

Clearing his throat, he said, "It's my understanding that it usual for most pair-bonded couples to have a song which exhibits their feelings and commitment to each other. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Then this can be our song." There was a long pause. "If that's all right with you."

She squeezed him tightly to her. "Yes. It's all right with me."

They danced until the song ended. Then, when it played again on a loop, they kept dancing. Sheldon wasn't ready to let go of her yet. _I should tell her, but I don't know_—

"Stop overanalyzing, Sheldon," she murmured against his chest. "Just let it be."

He smiled. She knew him so well. There was a comfort in that this time instead of frustration or annoyance. "I owe you an answer," he pointed out.

"I already know the answer."

_She did? Of course she did._ "I should say it out loud."

"You will. When you're ready."

His throat worked, keeping him silent. He gripped her tightly as a wave of heavy emotion coursed through him.

Amy sighed and relaxed against him. Sheldon held her in his arms and rocked back and forth to their song. _Could I say it? Is it true?_ He concentrated, considering every facet. There was so much to consider, so much to weigh. His imagination bloomed. Then, suddenly he knew. Sheldon could see it all before him until everything around him was gone except for him and Amy. The day wasn't that far off. There he was. He was holding her hand. She was smiling. His mouth was moving. He was telling her how much she meant to him, how necessary she was to his happiness. Then, the three hardest words in the English language came tumbling out of his mouth with the ease of reciting Pi.

_I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler._

It was Sheldon's turn to sigh.

"You're right, Amy," he said, relaxing against her as Eric Clapton started over again. "I will tell you … when I'm ready."

Somehow, saying that aloud and seeing it in his mind made the concept all the more real. And, the more real it got, the less frightened he was.

"Fascinating."

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N: ****No major drama. Just lots of cheesy romance. SIGH … just the way I likes it. Forgive me. I know. I'm a hopeless romantic. All the therapy in the world couldn't help me. :D Don't worry. I've got a few other stories rolling around in my head. Scenes I see in my head, questions I need answered, wrongs I need righted. (You know, if I wasn't a writer, I might think I was crazy. Hmmm…)**


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